


Red Suits You

by Danruu



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Drug Use, M/M, Red Lyrium Cullen, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 02:13:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4122229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danruu/pseuds/Danruu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a kmeme prompt. He's a dog of war, but sometimes, he's more. (RedLyrium!Cullen) - Reposted</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well I'm a tit who managed to accidentally delete this from her Ao3! Reposted!
> 
> Written for a kmeme prompt, cut for convenience: "anyway Samson's tolerance is so high that he remains mostly himself becoming the leader of the red templars, but Cullen becomes a bit more wild. he's not the second in command, he's too aggressive and violent. he's more like Samson's weapon. and while he serves corypheus, they all do, his only loyalty is to Samson. they're sort of a couple, definitely in love, and it's a forever kind of thing."
> 
> I was highly inspired by therealmcgee's portrait of redlyrium!Cullen, it's excellent.

This is how he likes him best, Samson decides, braced over Cullen with the other man’s legs pulled up to his chest. The younger man had been given his weekly dose of red lyrium not an hour earlier, and now he was calm and pliant and definitely how Samson liked him best. Cullen catches him staring, and he smiles up at him. In that moment he reminds him of the man he’d known in Kirkwall, and Samson smiles back.   
  
“Do you want me to fuck you?” Samson asks, knowing what the answer will be but wanting to hear it from the man beneath him. Cullen makes a purring noise, practically writhing against him in a way that makes the breath catch in Samson’s throat. Cullen is laughing as he pulls the man down to kiss him, languid and unnaturally hot, the heat of the lyrium shared between them.   
  
“Yes I want you to fuck me.” Cullen says, moving his hands from Samson’s face to rest on the mattress either side of his head. Like a surrender, Samson notes with some amusement.   
  
Cullen wasn’t normally so calm and well-behaved. By tomorrow he would be full of energy again, wild energy, like a rabid wolf. He would go out with the men, if Samson allowed him to, to as many of the front line fights as he could. He would come back sweaty and bloody and press Samson against the nearest wall so he could devour him with biting kisses. He’d drop to his knees and stare up at the other man while he took his cock deep into his hot throat.   
  
Cullen’s eyes are a different colour now, red instead of brown, but Samson finds he prefers them now. He likes the slight glow. Red suits Cullen.   
  
Despite his relaxed state, Cullen is getting impatient, and he bucks his hips, trying to get Samson into the right position with a needy whine. Samson shushes him, reaching to the table by the bed. This was something they only did when Cullen had been drugged too, by tomorrow he would insist on it raw, no slick to ease the way save what Samson could do with fingers and spit. He said he liked the drag, the friction, the feeling of being split open by his lover’s cock, and Samson could hardly deny him a request like that could he? 

But now he goes slowly, fingers gentle, easing him open, stretching carefully while Cullen clutches the bedsheets and whimpers. Such a pretty sound, one Samson savours. He remembers the first time he’d taken Cullen, when they’d shared a room in the Gallows. Samson had done this too, gentle and careful. Maybe that was why he enjoyed it so much.   
  
“Sam...” Cullen is desperate now, but a far more patient version of the desperate he is the rest of the time. He bites and scratches, leaves marks in places that no one else sees at Samson’s command. Samson in turn bites him back, but higher up, marking him so all the men know who’s taking Cullen. Samson is the Commander here, and Cullen for all his wild energy is loyal and obedient.   
  
Samson removes his fingers, letting Cullen whine under him a little longer before he lines up his cock with the man’s entrance. It’s a smooth thrust, so easy, and Cullen moans like no whore at the Rose could ever have hoped to.   
  
So pretty. How had he stayed so pretty? The red, glowing eyes and the scars on his face only seemed to make him more attractive, fighting against the pale, pallid skin, the too-dark veins in his neck and down his arms. But it was more than his physical transformation. He was confident. Fearless. Gone was the insecure little boy from Honnleath. Cullen was a man now. And a savage creature except for these few hours after his fix of red lyrium.   
  
Samson moves a hand to Cullen’s hair, grabbing a handful at the base of his scalp, fucking him slowly, angling his hips just right so he could hear every ragged breath and moan from the younger man. Cullen’s hands move to clutch his shoulders, blunt fingernails digging into his skin, still gentle compared to how they’ll be tomorrow. He’s trying to rub his neglected cock between them, he needs more. He always needs more.  
  
“Sam... Sam please... Please.” There it was, what Samson was waiting for. He smiles. Cullen begs a lot, but it’s sweeter on nights like these. No harsh growling, just plaintive little noises. Samson couldn’t even begin to explain how good it felt to have this living weapon underneath him, begging him. He feels a sudden rush of emotion and drops down to catch Cullen in a fierce kiss as his resolve finally crumbles.   
  
He all but crushes Cullen underneath him as his hips thrust hard and fast, and Cullen wails in pleasure against his mouth, hips bucking to meet every thrust. There’s more urgency now, as if the dreamy haze from the red lyrium has started to lift already. Samson sometimes wondered what kind of song Cullen heard, whether it changed as the hours passed from taking the lyrium to it becoming a part of him. He had never asked, and he did not plan to. 

Cullen arches his back beautifully, driving his head back into the mattress as he moans, and Samson takes advantage of the exposed throat, sucking hard over a dark red vein. That does it, and he feels the sudden stickiness across their abdomens as Cullen comes with a choked sob.   
  
“Good boy.” Samson murmurs, slowing down again, so close to joining his lover over the edge but wanting to see Cullen’s face in more detail. That dreamy, fucked-out smile was kept imprinted in his mind for when they were apart, a sentiment Samson would not share with anyone, not even the subject himself.   
  
Cullen’s hands drop from his shoulders again, back to where they were, and Samson’s hands find his wrists, holding him there as he watches the other man’s face intently. Cullen shifts under him, too sensitive, everything throbbing.  
  
The thighs around Samson’s waist tremble and that’s enough to finish Samson off too. He comes, never making a sound save his ragged breathing. Cullen makes enough noise for the both of them.   
  
“Come here.” Samson says, voice rough as he rolls off Cullen to lie down on his back. He doesn’t need to ask twice, Cullen curls into him eagerly, the heat radiating off them both more than enough to keep them warm. It was one of Samson’s favourite things about the red lyrium. He was never cold as long as it coursed through his veins.   
  
“I love you Sam.” Cullen mumbles into Samson’s neck. This side to him won’t last. He has perhaps a couple of hours before he becomes what he’s meant to be. A soldier. A weapon. A tool for a war that was bigger than both of them.  
  
“Sleep.” Samson orders, but there’s no force behind it. They just didn’t need confessions. Those days of whispering to each other in the dark had been left behind in the Gallows. Tomorrow he would be sending Cullen to Adamant, but he already knew he’d be back. He had to be. Samson needed him. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Repost~

Adamant had been one big fucking disaster, and now Samson was pacing the corridors of the ruin they called theirs. The only upside to it all was that it wasn’t his fault, and the Elder One had no reason to consider it so. Shit had gone wrong in the Fade, the demon who was supposed to provide them their much needed forces had failed, and they’d had no choice but to quit the field to preserve what few effective templars they had left. That in particular left a bad taste in his mouth, and Samson knew Cullen would be furious.   
  
As if summoned, the doors of the keep swung open and Cullen strode through, helmet under one arm and a stormy expression on his face. He’s splattered with blood, some his, most not. Even like this he looks stunningly beautiful to Samson, though perhaps it was just the relief at seeing his lover still alive. Cullen was reckless in battle; it was only a matter of time before he made a mistake. Samson didn’t like to think about it.   
  
“Are you injured?” He starts to ask, but Cullen pushes him so forcefully into the wall that the words are lost. Cullen presses a searing kiss to Samson’s lips, hands gripping either side of his face. Samson doesn’t try to stop him as the blond sinks to his knees, fingers already fumbling with the ties on Samson’s trousers. They were still in the hallway; anyone could walk in and see them like this. But it was Cullen on his knees for Samson, the way it should be, neither of them cared who saw.   
  
With a groan Samson grips Cullen’s hair, thrusting into the wet heat of Cullen’s mouth and getting hard within moments. He looks down to see those red eyes staring back up at him. Fuck. He might not have the same mad energy as his lover, but the adrenaline from a battle, even a losing one, was still coursing through his veins as sure as the red lyrium.   
  
He wants  _more._  Samson pulls Cullen up by his hair, turning them so now Cullen is the one slammed against the wall, and Samson relishes that slight look of surprise on the younger man’s face. He only takes a moment to peel a bit of dried blood off Cullen’s face before he catches him in another harsh kiss. He loves being the one who can tame this beautiful, savage, creature. Covered in blood, mud, sweat, it only serves to make it more obvious that he’s wild. But he’s Samson’s.   
  
They’re too impatient to remove Cullen’s bulky armour, too impatient to find their bed or even move into a side room. Samson turns Cullen roughly, pressing his face into the wall as the other man growls in a way that goes straight to his cock. Tamed, but just barely, and only because Cullen wants to be fucked as much as Samson wants to fuck him. 

There’s no time to prepare, no time to go slowly. Samson pushes his fingers into Cullen’s burning mouth, no need to tell him what to do as the warrior sucks on them, biting down for a second just to hear Samson hiss and to feel the way the other man grabs his hair with his free hand. Saliva is not enough, not nearly enough, Cullen knows it will burn, but what doesn’t burn now? His whole body feels like it’s on fire all the time, and he has long since learned how to live with the flames.  
  
“More. Fuck me Sam for fuck’s sake.” He doesn’t use the Maker’s name any more, Samson notes with some amusement. When they’d been together in Kirkwall Cullen couldn’t stop calling out to the Maker while Samson slid gentle fingers into him. Now it’s curses, and the fingers are rarely gentle. Samson doesn’t think about what he prefers. Sometimes he dreams about that withdrawn young man with the sweet smile he met in Kirkwall, but the reality is right here in front of him. Different lives.   
  
Samson spits into his hand, rubbing it onto his cock in a half hearted attempt to ease the way slightly. He won’t get a chance to go slowly, not with how hungry Cullen is. Easier to play it his way then deal with the damage afterwards. If there was any. Perhaps it was another effect of the red lyrium, but Cullen could take damage and barely notice it now. Not just in the bedroom. Samson was sure there were wounds underneath that heavy black Cullen wore.   
  
“Stop thinking.” Cullen growled, and Samson grabbed his blond hair again as he thrust his cock into that too-tight hole, revelling in the lustful howl that came from the other man. Cullen wanted it like this, a hard, quick fuck to spend all that energy from the battlefield. Then he’d be calmer, pliant enough for Samson to strip that armour, dress the wounds, bathe him, so they could pretend he was sane for a little while longer. Cullen played along. But only after he got his fill of madness first.   
  
Samson sets a brutal pace, shoving Cullen into the cold stone wall with every sharp push forward. His hands move from Cullen’s hair to his hips, gripping hard enough to bruise, pulling him back onto the thick length inside him. Samson doesn’t want to imagine how it must feel, but Cullen’s head is thrown back and he’s moaning like a dockside whore as whatever masochistic urge he has is sated.

There is no chance that Samson will last long, but as he slides one generous hand to Cullen’s cock he’s sure the other man won’t either. He’s hard, slick with pre-come, and when Samson rolls his hips again he drives Cullen into his hand, smiling a little at the moan it earns him. There’s no stopping him now, he pounds into the younger man over and over, making no noise save his harsh breaths, while Cullen curses and moans and growls his approval.  
  
Cullen comes first with a shuddering groan, painting the wall as he clenches around Samson. It takes only a few more short, sharp snaps of his hips before Samson is following him. Quiet, but he still digs his nails into Cullen’s skin to make his pleasure known.  
  
They don’t stay like this for long, Samson pulls out as roughly as he entered; only taking a moment to appreciate the sight of Cullen’s arse before the other man has covered himself again.   
  
“You’ll have to clean that up later.” Samson said, regarding the wall with a smirk on his face. Cullen only shrugs, finally exhausted after so long without sleep. Samson leads the way to their room, but he notices the slight limp, the way one side of Cullen is tensed. He’s hurt. Of course he is. You can’t face as many soldiers as he did without a scratch.   
  
Briefly, a memory of that man from Kirkwall flickers in Samson’s mind. Strong but sweet, damaged but not defeated. Maybe he does miss that Cullen. But it’s too late for that thought now. He had to harden himself. There was too much work to be done. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at http://stripeydani.tumblr.com/


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